AVATAR The only film capable of surpassing Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen as the Fanboy Fave of 2009, James Cameron’s massively hyped Avatar at least differs from Michael Bay’s boondoggle in that it’s, you know, entertaining. On the other hand, the notion that it represents the next revolution in cinema is nothing more than studio-driven hyperbole, because while the 3-D visuals might rate four stars, Cameron’s steady but unexceptional screenplay guarantees that this falls well below more compatible marriages of substance and style found in such celluloid groundbreakers as the original King Kong, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Toy Story and Cameron’s own Terminator films. Here, the story meshes Dances With Wolves and Pocahontas with, amusingly enough, this year’s animated flop Battle for Terra — it’s the year 2154, and the Americans have decided to destroy the indigenous people on a distant planet in order to plunder the land and make off with its riches (plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose). Employing technology that allows humans to look like the blue-skinned locals, the Earthlings send in a Marine (Sam Worthington) to gain their trust, but as the jarhead gets to know these aliens better, he finds himself conflicted. For all its swagger, Avatar is rarely deeper than an average Garfield strip, but Cameron’s creation of a new world demands to be seen at least once. ***
THE BLIND SIDE Precious is different in that it allows an African-American character to tell her own story, never ceding the camera to anyone else and remaining the focal point throughout. The Blind Side is more typical of the sort of racially aware films Hollywood foists upon middle America, purportedly focusing on a black protagonist but really serving as an example of the goodness of white folks. The only reason this young black boy exists, it seems to hint, is so that a Caucasian woman can feel good about herself. The fact that The Blind Side is based on a true story dispels much of this criticism, although it still would have been nice if writer-director John Lee Hancock had thought to include the character of Michael Oher (Quentin Aaron) into more of his game plan. Instead, he’s a saintly, one-dimensional figure — although he (like everyone else in the film) seems like the spawn of Satan when compared to Leigh Ann Tuohy (Sandra Bullock), the feisty Southern belle who decides to feed, shelter and eventually adopt this homeless lad after spotting him one dark and stormy night. Bullock’s a lot of fun to watch in this role, and the movie itself contains enough humor and heartbreak (though next to no dramatic tension) to make it an engaging if undemanding experience. But its true intentions are revealed in its ample self-congratulatory dialogue. “Leigh Anne, you are changing that boy’s life.” “No. [insert dramatic, Oscar-friendly pause here] He’s changing mine.” You can almost see the filmmakers patting themselves on their backs before heading home to their maximum-security Beverly Hills mansions. **1/2
A CHRISTMAS CAROL Officially, the title is Disney’s A Christmas Carol, which is acceptable since it sure as hell isn’t Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. While it might be true that this animated version retains more of the literary classic than might reasonably be expected, it’s also accurate to state that a key ingredient of the novel — namely, its humanist spirit — is largely missing from this chilly interpretation. Director Robert Zemeckis, who used to make fun movies in which the spectacular special effects served the story and not the other way around (Back to the Future, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Forrest Gump), has become obsessed with the motion capture process (this is his third consecutive picture utilizing this technique, following The Polar Express and Beowulf), and one gets the sense that he chose the Dickens chestnut not because of a desire to revive its moral tale for a new generation but because it seemed like a suitable vehicle for his new techno-toys. But Zemeckis can’t keep still, and rather than remain within the parameters of the meaty story, he follows in the footsteps of the recent Where the Wild Things Are adaptation by fleshing out a story that didn’t exactly cry out for extraneous material. But while Wild Things‘ additions at least made thematic sense, Zemeckis pads the material with such nonsense as Scrooge (Jim Carrey) being blasted into the stratosphere or dashing through the cobbled streets of London (a chase scene? Really?) while simultaneously turning into the incredible shrinking man. Carrey gives the role of the miserly Scrooge his all (he also voices a half-dozen other characters), and the 3-D effects (offered in select theaters) are expertly realized. But you don’t need glasses — 3-D or otherwise — to see that this holiday release is too diluted for adults, too frightening for children, and too tiresome for just about everybody. *1/2
THE DAMNED UNITED Anthony Hopkins has long been heralded for playing a wide variety of historical figures — Adolf Hitler, Pablo Picasso, Richard Nixon and a dozen others — but Michael Sheen isn’t exactly a slouch either when it comes to turning real life into reel life. The talented thespian who previously tackled David Frost, Tony Blair, H.G. Wells and Emperor Nero now essays the role of Brian Clough, and if most American viewers draw a blank on that name, rest assured that British soccer fans are more than familiar with his legacy. Refusing to devolve into a routine sports flick (see Invictus), The Damned United is instead more interested in the off-field clashes than the on-field skirmishes, as the talented soccer manager Clough moves up into the major leagues and ends up taking over the championship team vacated by his rival, Don Revie (Colm Meaney). The beauty of the script by Peter Morgan (The Queen) is that the feud between the two men isn’t black-and-white: Clough often reveals himself to be as much of a jerk as Revie (especially when ignoring the advice of his longtime friend and partner Peter Taylor, well-played by Timothy Spall), and it’s this entanglement of audience emotion and expectation that allows this rollicking saga to score. ***
DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE MORGANS? Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: Two city slickers whose knowledge of world history extends only to the NYC boroughs are forced through contrived situations to stay a spell in rural America, where they adapt to the regional cuisine (lots of mayonnaise employed), view animals as alien beings (horses and cows and bears, oh my!), and remain leery of the locals (gun-toting Republicans who love their rodeos but hate those liberals). If you’ve heard that one, then you’ve certainly heard about the Morgans, a dimwitted comedy in which an estranged couple (Hugh Grant and Sarah Jessica Parker) find themselves hiding out in Wyoming after they witness a murder back in the Big Apple. Old pros Sam Elliott and Mary Steenburgen (representing the small-town law) provide some lift, but otherwise, here’s yet another movie that should be neither seen nor heard. *1/2
AN EDUCATION Coming-of-age movies are a dime-a-dozen, but one as exemplary as An Education deserves nothing less than the opportunity to command top dollar on the open market. Sensitively directed by Lone Scherfig and exquisitely penned by Nick Hornby (adapting Lynn Barber’s memoir), this lovely drama set in London during the early 1960s stays true to its title by showing how its teen protagonist learns life lessons as they relate to issues of class, sex, schooling and her country’s own growing pains. In a tremendous breakout performance, Carey Mulligan stars as Jenny, a 16-year-old whose intelligence and maturity level place her far above everyone else at her high school. Her strict father (Alfred Molina) and comparatively more lenient mother (Cara Seymour) plan for her to attend Oxford upon graduation, but those plans threaten to get derailed once she meets a debonair gentleman (Peter Sarsgaard) twice her age. She’s instantly smitten by this older man who introduces her to a whirlwind life of nightclubs, champagne and fine art, and her decision to possibly toss aside higher education troubles her favorite teacher (Olivia Williams) as well as the school’s principal (Emma Thompson). Morals may be gently suggested by the story but no easy answers are ever provided, marking An Education as that rare film which acknowledges that regrettable situations don’t always destroy lives but can sometimes be used to positively shape long-term outlooks. Hornby and Scherfig set up a number of believable conflicts for Jenny to navigate, and the acting is uniformly splendid. An Education is clearly one year-end award contender that passes with high honors. ***1/2
EVERYBODY’S FINE After spending the better part of a decade mugging to the rafters in such films as The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle and Analyze That, Robert De Niro opts to underplay in the family melodrama Everybody’s Fine. But don’t let this opposite approach sucker you in: De Niro isn’t low-key as much as he’s merely lethargic, and it’s yet one more dismissive turn from an actor who once owned a major chunk of seminal ’70s cinema. De Niro stars as Frank Goode, a widower who, disappointed that all four of his grown children have canceled plans to come visit him, decides instead to surprise all of them on their own respective doorsteps. He first visits David, an artist living in New York, but David never turns up at his own apartment. Undeterred, Frank presses forward, visiting in rapid succession his daughter Amy (Kate Beckinsale), an advertising executive, his son Robert (Sam Rockwell), a symphony musician, and his other daughter Rosie (Drew Barrymore), a Vegas entertainer. It turns out that all three are hiding things from their dad — about David as well as about themselves. Writer-director Kirk Jones makes an unhealthy number of unwise decisions, from pacing to casting to his mise en scene selections. Awkward and ill-matched, the members of the big-name cast fail to impress, although Rockwell comes closest to making his character something more than a dullard. Dramatic crises are played out in predictable fashion, with the one deviation from formula — a climactic scene in which Frank imagines his offspring looking like children but arguing with him like adults — proving to be disastrous. Although a remake of a 1990 Italian import starring Marcello Mastroianni, Everybody’s Fine also has much in common, both thematically and narratively, with a Jack Nicholson gem from a few years back. Ultimately, though, this is less About Schmidt and more about nothing much. **
FANTASTIC MR. FOX Whatever is in the water out in Los Angeles is forcing today’s most acclaimed young filmmakers to bring beloved children’s books to the big screen. First it was Spike Jonze directing an adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, and now it’s Wes Anderson helming a motion picture version of Roald Dahl’s Fantastic Mr. Fox. At this rate, can we soon expect Darren Aronofsky to tackle Dr. Seuss’ Hop on Pop and Paul Thomas Anderson to serve up Arlene Mosel’s Tikki Tikki Tembo? As for Anderson’s stop-motion-animated opus, it’s an improvement over Jonze’s recent live-action effort, even if it falls short of being the new family classic dictated by the advance buzz. The mistake would be in categorizing it as a children’s film, as it largely leaves out the sort of oversized humor found in movies made for the small fry. Instead, its pleasures, including Anderson’s painterly compositions and the A-list vocal cast, seem more likely to win over viewers of voting age and above. George Clooney brings his usual mix of leading-man swagger and character-actor eccentricity to his interpretation of the title character, a newspaper columnist who once promised his wife (a largely wasted Meryl Streep) that he would leave behind his life of danger (i.e. stealing chickens) but instead finds himself being lured back by the prospect of sticking it to a trio of wicked farmers (the leader being voiced by Dumbledore himself, Michael Gambon). Moving to its own laid-back rhythms (an approach sure to cause seat-shuffling from those not on its wavelength), this likable lark functions as a reprieve from the plasticity of most modern ‘toon flicks. It may not be fantastic, but it’s good enough. ***
INVICTUS Clearly, there’s no shortage of stories to relate about Nelson Mandela. Why, then, did Clint Eastwood choose one that forces the celebrated leader to go MIA in his own saga? Second only to the upcoming Nine as the biggest disappointment of the holiday season, Invictus represents a rare misstep for the iconic filmmaker, who’s been on a tear lately with the stellar likes of Million Dollar Baby, Letters from Iwo Jima and last year’s Gran Torino. But Invictus, sad to say, finds the prolific 79-year-old merely coasting for more Oscar gold, tackling the sort of safe, sanitized fare that used to attract stodgy filmmakers like Richard Attenborough on a regular basis. Simplifying complicated South African issues to the level of a Berenstain Bears storybook, the movie focuses on the initial years of the presidency of Mandela (portrayed by Morgan Freeman in a competent if uninvolving performance), who emerged from decades in prison bent not on revenge against the whites who oppressed him but instead seeking unity in this post-apartheid South Africa. Finding resistance from both sides of the racial divide, the saintly leader decides to use the sport of rugby as Ground Zero for solidarity, working with the captain (a functional Matt Damon) of the country’s mostly white team to build national pride by taking them all the way to the 1995 World Cup Championship game. The first half of Invictus is the superior portion, since Mandela is front and center for most of the running time: The politics may be spotty and the Obama comparisons may or may not be intentional (“One day on the job and they’re already attacking him!” bellows one supporter), but at least some human dynamics are at play. Unfortunately, the second part devolves into a typical sports drama focusing on an underdog team battling its way through incredible odds, and this narrative direction forces Mandela to remain on the sidelines of the movie itself. Relegated to the role of cheerleader — and afforded only an occasional camera shot showing him beaming with pleasure — Nelson Mandela may have won an election but here suffers a defeat at the hands of formula filmmaking. **
IT’S COMPLICATED After the triumph of Julie & Julia, Meryl Streep heads back to the kitchen for It’s Complicated, an erratic comedy in which she plays Jane, a successful baker and restaurateur who, a decade after divorcing Jake (Alec Baldwin), finds herself cast in the role of the “other woman” once she embarks on an affair with her remarried ex. Writer-director Nancy Meyers (Something’s Gotta Give) surprisingly goes too easy on the character of Jake, a decision that leaves a bad taste and drains some of the fun out of this otherwise agreeable (if rarely uproarious) bauble. But Streep’s comic chops remain strong, and the film gets a significant boost from the presence of Steve Martin as a sensitive architect who finds himself drawn to Jane. **1/2
THE MAID The Maid sports the sort of terse, career-oriented title that often suggests a viewer can expect to either see a slapstick comedy (The Valet, The Bellboy) or a psychological thriller (The Nanny). But while it’s clear from the outset that pratfalls will be noticeably missing from this Chilean import, it isn’t until late in the game that audiences will be able to determine the extent of the picture’s darker undertones. In a formidable performance, Catalina Saavedra plays Raquel, who for 23 years has served as the live-in maid for the Valdez family. Considering herself one of the family, Raquel is fiercely territorial, and when her failing health forces mousy matriarch Pilar Valdez (Claudia Celedon) to hire additional help, Raquel does whatever she can to scare off those she views as intruders. The script by director Sebastian Silva is masterful, setting up all manner of interesting dynamics not only between Raquel and the members of the household but also between Raquel and the succession of domestics who run afoul of her tyrannical ways. ***1/2
ME AND ORSON WELLES In 1937, high school student Richard Samuels (Zac Efron, just fine) lands a small role in a theatrical production of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. But it’s not just any production: It’s the one being mounted by the innovative Mercury Theatre and its brilliant star-director, an arrogant and demanding force of nature named Orson Welles. Lacking the sociopolitical context of Tim Robbins’ 1999 Cradle Will Rock (another look at the early days of the Mercury), Richard Linklater’s entertaining picture nevertheless does an admirable job in its dissection of Welles’ fascinating — and infuriating — personality, although the movie wouldn’t be half as successful without Christian McKay’s commanding performance in the showy role. ***
THE MESSENGER Writing his script with Alessandro Camon, director Oren Moverman has chosen to focus his compelling story on the stateside officers who are assigned to the US Army’s Casualty Notification unit and ordered to inform family members that their loved ones have died in overseas action. The newest recruit to this unenviable position is Will Montgomery (Ben Foster), who’s just returned from Iraq branded a hero for displaying courage under fire. Will is placed under veteran soldier Tony Stone (Woody Harrelson), who’s tasked to impart his limitless wisdom on his young charge. Tony rattles off a thorough checklist — take care not to use certain morbid words, never touch the bereaved, and so on — but that preparation can only go so far when faced with all manner of kinfolk, each guaranteed to react differently than the last. The sequences in which the pair make their rounds are fascinating, with some family members (like the father played by Steve Buscemi) lashing out in anger at these bearers of bad news while others simply collapse in a heap on the floor. The film also manages to inject some romance into the mix when Will, perhaps unwisely, finds himself drawn to a woman (Samantha Morton) who has just lost her husband. These scenes are tastefully executed and never shy away from the moral implications of the situation (Morton’s Olivia warns Will that everyone will accuse him of preying on her vulnerability and label her a “slut”), but the real power derives from the relationship between Will and Tony, two men who approach their assignments differently yet eventually find common ground. Simply put, Foster is a revelation, while Harrelson has arguably never been better. It’s their exemplary performances, combined with Moverman’s confident handling of rich material, that make The Messenger worthy of our undivided attention. ***1/2
NINE The biggest disappointment of the holiday season — make that the biggest disappointment of the year — Rob Marshall’s second celluloid musical (after the accomplished Chicago) proves to be both tone-deaf and flat-footed. Based on the Broadway musical (itself loosely based on Federico Fellini’s classic movie 8-1/2), this lumbering eye sore (mis)casts Daniel Day-Lewis as egotistical film director Guido Contini, who juggles all the women in his life (played by five Oscar winners … and Kate Hudson) while attempting to jump-start production on his next picture. Nicole Kidman, Judi Dench, Sophia Loren and (to a lesser degree) Penelope Cruz — all are lined up against the wall and mowed down by Marshall’s indifference to their characters, a massacre that extends to his handling of the film’s aimless plotting and ugly musical numbers. An inspired sequence bursts through the gloom now and then, but the only true success story here belongs to Marion Cotillard: As Guido’s long-suffering wife, she adds the only warmth to this otherwise chilly undertaking. **
OLD DOGS Having sat through the witless preview more times than I care to remember, I was perfectly willing to let Old Dogs go gentle into that good night, one of the expected casualties during a period in which screenings of year-end award contenders come flying fast and furious. But then I read that in one scene, John Travolta plays the Joker, and I got excited at the sheer prospect of witnessing such a dazzling display of cinematic wretchedness. Truly, this would be a scene to surpass any given moment from such past Travolta bombs as Battlefield Earth and Look Who’s Talking Too! But no. Contrary to expectations, there’s no fantasy sequence in which Travolta plays the Joker; instead, his character has merely taken some medicine that causes his face to sport a Joker-esque grimace. Thus, what could have been a so-bad-it’s-glorious moment instead falls into the so-bad-it’s-only-bad camp. Then again, that pretty much describes the entire project, which casts Travolta and Robin Williams as Charlie and Dan, business partners who suddenly find themselves looking after Dan’s newly discovered kids (twins conceived during one drunken night seven years ago) for a couple of weeks. Masters of their trade (sports marketing), the pair prove to be completely incompetent in the presence of the children (Conner Rayburn and Ella Bleu Travolta, neither exactly a find), leading to a series of excruciating sequences in which the adults are repeatedly ridiculed, humiliated and made to suffer great physical pain. The movie is never remotely funny, but it excels at being creepy. In addition to Travolta’s aforementioned gross-out grin, Rita Wilson is on hand to deliver a skin-crawling performance as a hyperactive hand model. The sight of a gorilla nuzzling annoying Seth Green is equally nauseating — more so since most audience members will be feverishly praying that the creature tears him limb from limb instead. There are countless moments of creative desperation — reaction shots from a dog, golf balls to the groin, etc. — but none of creative innovation. *
PRECIOUS: BASED ON THE NOVEL PUSH BY SAPPHIRE “Kitchen sink realism” was the term invented to describe a specific type of artistic movement that took place in England in the 1950s and 1960s, and here comes Precious to borrow that expression for a more modern, decidedly Americanized look at life among the lower classes. Adding to the appropriateness of subletting that term is that fact that a good part of this harrowing drama is set in and around the kitchen, as a frying pan to the head and hairy pigs feet to the arteries both take a toll on the well-being of the story’s heroine, 16-year-old Claireece “Precious” Jones (Gabourey Sidibe). Living with her hateful mother (Mo’Nique), a woman who abuses her in every way imaginable, Precious has to contend not only with a disastrous home life but also with the fact that she’s pregnant with her second child, both kids the result of being raped by her own long-gone father. Grossly overweight and largely illiterate, Precious nevertheless harbors a poetic side and can only hope that her life will take a turn for the better. She finally finds some allies in a patient teacher (Paula Patton) and a no-nonsense social worker (Mariah Carey, surprisingly effective), but their encouragement repeatedly gets negated by her mother’s assertions that she’s ugly, unloved and unwanted. The 2009 release least likely to be mistaken for the “feel-good movie of the year,” Precious is for most of its running time so pessimistic that it threatens to hammer viewers into a fetal position from which they may never emerge. Yet it’s this hard-edged honesty — a far cry from the chipper, meaningless platitudes on view in many other works — that earns this film its stripes. Yet its key ingredient is Sidibe, whose excellent performance crucially transforms Precious from a character to be pitied into a person to be admired. ***
THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG Given the Disney studio’s recent disdain toward traditional hand-drawn animation, it’s sometimes hard to believe this was the company that over seven decades ago proved that toon flicks deserved to be on the big screen as much as their live-action counterparts. After all, the outfit with countless classics under its belt, some as recent as the 1990s (Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King), had all but abandoned the format in this new century, squarely throwing its support behind computer-animated fare and releasing a scattering of old-school mediocrities (like Treasure Planet) that were saddled with limp scripts and uninspired voice casting. So is The Princess and the Frog the start of a new era, or merely a hiccup that will quickly be stifled? It’s hard to predict, but for now, it’s a pleasure to have an old-fashioned animated effort that actually stirs memories of past glories. Adding a decidedly jazzy spin to the venerable fairy tale, The Princess and the Frog centers on Tiana (Anika Noni Rose), a young woman living in early-20th-century New Orleans. Toiling as a waitress but longing to save enough money to open her own restaurant, Tiana finds her fate intertwined with that of Prince Naveen (Bruno Campos), a visiting royal who’s been duped by the nefarious Dr. Facilier (Keith David) and turned into a frog. Tiana reluctantly kisses the now-green Naveen in an attempt to help him turn human again (as per the fairy tale), but the plan backfires and she instead finds herself joining him in an amphibian state. Randy Newman’s song score runs hot and cold, but the animation is lovely, the story offers the requisite Disney mix of mirth and message, and the supporting characters (including a jazz-lovin’ crocodile and a laid-back firefly) prove to be an engaging bunch. Yet what’s most noteworthy about the film isn’t what’s in it but what’s missing — specifically, the faddish pop culture references and scatological humor that dates most of today’s animated efforts. The Princess and the Frog refuses to be pegged as a product of a specific period, and in that regard, it’s a welcome throwback to the timeless toon tales of yesteryear. ***
THE ROAD Zombies seem to be de rigueur in today’s strain of post-apocalyptic motion pictures, yet this adaptation of the novel by Cormac McCarthy (No Country for Old Men) offers nothing quite so fanciful. The undead shambling through this bleak movie’s ravished landscapes are, technically speaking, still human, though many have taken to eating human flesh, and all seem to be moving forward as though propelled by a natural instinct to survive at all costs. Among the ragtag survivors are a father-son team identified only as Man (Viggo Mortensen) and Boy (Kodi Smit-McPhee); solely dedicated to protecting his child, Man does his best to steer clear of all other humans, lest they be what he tags “bad guys” (those with murderous, cannibalistic urges); his paranoia makes him even wary of seemingly harmless strangers, like the elderly man they encounter on the road (Robert Duvall, doing the most with this juicy morsel of a role). Director John Hillcoat, whose Aussie Western The Proposition should be Netflixed posthaste by all who haven’t seen it, creates a credible futureworld in which even the “good guys” struggle to retain some semblance of decency, and Mortensen comes through with another haunting performance that mixes the cerebral with the physical. ***
SHERLOCK HOLMES The stench of Van Helsing hung heavy over the trailer for this interpretation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s sleuth extraordinaire — hyperkinetic editing, loopy deviations from the source, an unintelligible plot — but the end result turns out to be far more successful than those early warning signs indicated. Not a great film by any stretch of the imagination, director Guy Ritchie’s full-speed-ahead effort still qualifies as decent holiday-season fare, with Robert Downey Jr. vigorously portraying Holmes as a brawny, brainy gentleman-lout and Jude Law providing measured counterpoint as sidekick Dr. Watson. The storyline isn’t always interesting as much as it’s overextended — at least one plot strand could have been excised — and Ritchie’s pumped-up techniques often make this feel less like a movie and more like a video game promo. But there’s still plenty to enjoy here, and the ending all but guarantees a sequel — box office returns be damned. **1/2
2012 The perfect follow-up for those moviegoers who were simply crushed when Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen wrapped up at a too-brief 142 minutes, 2012 contributes another 158 minutes to the cause of wham-bam-thank-you-man cinema. No effect is too preposterous, no sound too deafening, and no cliché too enormous to be left out of the latest end-of-the-world effort from director Roland Emmerich, who there but for the grace of God goes Michael Bay. 2012 brushes through the fuzzy science — basically, the sun is responsible for Earth’s impending doom, predicted by the Mayans way back when — in order to devote more of its time to its inane assortment of stock characters and the CGI effects that will wow some but fail to impress others (they alternate between impressive and obvious). John Cusack is the all-American protagonist, a stock underachiever who must rise from Everyman to Superman in order to save not only himself but his fractured family unit (ex-wife, distant son, chipper daughter). There’s also the well-meaning scientist (Chiwetel Ejiofor), the duplicitous politician (Oliver Platt), the self-sacrificing U.S. president (Danny Glover), the conspiracy-theory nut (Woody Harrelson, whose zealotry was a lot more fun to watch in Zombieland), and so on. Even “master of disaster” Irwin Allen liked to shake up the status quo in such films as The Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno, but Emmerich has no imagination: His A-listers live, his support players die. Worse, he subscribes to a rigid ethical code usually reserved for slasher films and fundamentalist diatribes: Likable characters tempted by the flesh suffer mean-spirited ends, as does anyone who dares to stand in the way of traditional family values. Such sermonizing takes a back seat, of course, to action sequences which run on the same loop: A vehicle misses getting crushed by only this much. It’s marginally exciting the first 20 times it happens, less so the subsequent 30 times it’s shown. Then again, practically everything about the picture is lazy and uninspired, making 2012 just one more blockbuster that’s strictly by the numbers. *1/2
THE TWILIGHT SAGA: NEW MOON Hollywood’s second foray into the Twilight zone features enough fantasy and romance to satisfy most hardcore devotees of Stephenie Meyer’s vampire saga, but just as many viewers will notice that this is too often a case of the emperor — or, more specifically, buff teenage boys — wearing no clothes. Twilight might have been occasionally ripe, but that worked for the material, as director Catherine Hardwicke instinctively fed into the oversized angst that all too often defines the lives of teenagers wrapped up in their daily melodramas. By comparison, new helmer Chris Weitz keeps the proceedings on a low simmer, an emotional oasis only punctuated every once in a while by Bella’s howls as she pines for her one true bloodsucking love. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. In New Moon, vampire Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson) has decided that it’s too dangerous for his human girlfriend Bella (Kristen Stewart) to be around his kind, so he and his family pack up and leave their Forks, Wash., home, ostensibly for good. Missing her soulmate, Bella shuts down completely, and is only slowly drawn out of her shell by her friend Jacob (Taylor Lautner) — and by the discovery that Edward appears in ethereal form whenever she’s in danger. Bella repeatedly puts herself at risk — riding motorcycles at daredevil speeds, diving off impossibly high cliffs, gorging on fast-food combos every day for a full month (OK, kidding on that last one) — but soon discovers that an even deadlier option materializes with the return of some vampiric foes. And what’s with those gigantic werewolves stomping through the Pacific Northwest woods? In my review for Twilight, I wrote that the movie was “a love story first and a vampire tale second.” Given Pattinson’s ascension to pinup star as well as the pack of shirtless hunks filling out this latest film’s supporting cast, it’s safe to amend that statement to read that New Moon is a love story first and a male-model calendar second. The vampire tale has become almost incidental. **1/2
UP IN THE AIR In the cinema of 2009, Ryan Bingham should by all accounts emerge as the Protagonist Least Likely To Be Embraced By The Nation’s Moviegoers. That’s because Ryan works as a downsizing expert, hired to come in and dismiss employees that their own bosses are too gutless to fire face to face. Ryan is excellent at his job, which would make him the antagonist in virtually any other film. But because he’s played by charismatic George Clooney, Ryan becomes less a villain and more a representative of the modern American, a tech-age person trying to reconcile his buried humanity with what he or she believes is necessary to survive in this increasingly disconnected world. That’s the starting point for this superb adaptation of Walter Kirn’s novel, but the film covers a lot more territory — both literally and figuratively — before it reaches the finish line. As Ryan jets all over the country doing his job, he makes the acquaintance of a fellow frequent flyer (Vera Farmiga), and they strike up a romance that’s among the sexiest and most adult placed on screen in some time. Yet Ryan’s carefully constructed life threatens to crash and burn when his company’s latest hire (Anna Kendrick), a whiz kid just out of college, implements a plan that will require the grounding of all employees, including Ryan. Penning the script with Sheldon Turner, director Jason Reitman (now 3-for-3 following Juno and Thank You for Smoking) has created a timely seriocomic work that manages to be breezy without once diminishing the sobering realities that constantly hover around the picture’s edges (for starters, the fired employees interviewed in the film are not actors but real workers who were let go from their jobs). Farmiga and Kendrick are excellent as the two women who unexpectedly alter the direction of Ryan’s life, yet it’s Clooney, in his best screen work to date, who’s most responsible for earning this magnificent movie its wings. ****
THE YOUNG VICTORIA Skewing closer to the likes of Marie Antoinette and Lady Jane than to stately biopics of more seasoned rulers, The Young Victoria turns out to be as interested in charting the sexual and societal awakening of a royal naif as in examining the historical events that shaped her destiny. Building upon her already diverse portfolio, Emily Blunt handles all of the heavy lifting in the picture’s titular role, first seen as a teenager refusing to relinquish control of the empire to her mother (Miranda Richardson) and her conniving advisor (Mark Strong). Once her uncle, King William (Jim Broadbent), dies and she becomes queen, Victoria finds herself free from her mother but now being wooed politically by Lord Melbourne (Paul Bettany) and romantically by her cousin Albert (Rupert Friend). Less probing than many costume dramas yet also lighter on its feet, The Young Victoria won’t break out of its niche market but stands to service its target audience in satisfactory fashion. ***
This article appears in Dec 29, 2009 – Jan 4, 2010.
